someone else,” he said. “Isn’t there?”
She was not safe yet. She edged toward the door.
“I can see it in your face,” he said. And then he sighed with what might have seemed like defeat if she was not so wary of him. “I’d like to give you something. To remember me by.”
She was sure that was true.
“Just walk out to my car with me.”
She had no doubt he would love her to accompany him to his car, that he would look for an opportunity to overwhelm her.
“Sure,” she said, and went out the door. He was gloating over her acceptance. She had rehearsed this part with the police, too. Get out the door. Go instantly right. A policeman grabbed her and pulled her out of the way.
Winston, still gloating over the fact she had agreed to accompany him to his car, did not even see it coming. He was on the ground in a sea of blue in the blink of an eye. Then he was yanked to his feet.
Panting, he pulled against the arms that held him, glaring at her, radiating pure malevolence. “I’ll get you, you bitch,” he promised.
Angie stared at him. And then she actually threw back her head and laughed. “Don’t you get it? I got you. Your game is over.”
And then, feeling as free and as fearless as she had ever felt in her life, she turned and walked away.
Now, she was worthy to love Jefferson.
* * *
Jefferson’s phone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket and felt a whoosh of pure relief at the number on the screen. He had been waiting for this call for three days.
He had not been able to work. Or sleep. Or eat. The photographers had come and gone with him hardly noticing their presence. He was not sure if he had ever experienced the sense of helplessness that had gripped him over the past few days.
“Have you found her?” he demanded.
“Yes, we’ve located her.”
“Is she safe?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Jefferson felt as if he had been holding his breath and was finally allowed to breathe. He was not sure what to make of the cavalier tone in the PI’s voice.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“She’s more than fine. Angelica Witherspoon is quite the woman.”
“Excuse me?”
“I tracked her down through a source at the Calgary Police Service. She was at the center of a sting. They got that bastard. Because of her.”
“Huh?”
“My source says he’s been doing police work for twenty-two years and has never seen anyone perform like that. She was so calm and cool, and confident. She walked him right into a trap. He’ll never breathe another free breath.”
“She did what?” Jefferson sputtered. “We’re talking about Angie? Angelica Witherspoon?”
His detective repeated the whole story with great relish and more detail.
Jefferson tried to make this line up with the woman who had arrived at his door four weeks ago.
He couldn’t make it happen.
But as he thought of who she had become over their two weeks together, he knew what he was hearing was true.
She was braver than he had ever believed. And she was stronger than she had ever believed.
Still, when he hung up the phone, what he felt was an abject sense of loss. He felt the desolation of a man who had somehow touched heaven and was being sent back to earth.
Her foolhardiness only reminded him of what he already knew. Life was capricious. Things had turned out well, but they could have just as easily gone the other way. He could have gotten a phone call that reminded him, again, of his impotency. Of his failure to protect.
His phone rang again.
He saw Angelica Witherspoon flash across the screen. He wanted to talk to her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to scream at her for her foolishness and tell her to come home.
Home.
The place that both held hope and dashed hope. The place that tantalized with a vision of love, and then could take it all away.
He didn’t answer her call. And when he listened to her message and heard her words, he was so glad he had not.
I love you.
He clicked it off without listening to the rest of the message. She loved the one who could not protect her. Had he heard her speak those words, his every strength would have fled him. He would have begged her to come and fill this empty void his life had become.
Instead, he turned off his phone and tucked it away. He would get about the very serious business of proving to himself and to her he could go on without her.
It felt like a mission as he made his way to the kitchen, opened the freezer, remembered some particularly wonderful thing she had done with chicken breast. He had seen in her eyes, that first day, when she had looked at his tinned collection of food, that she had felt pity for him.
And one thing about Jefferson Stone? He despised pity. He had been on the receiving end of too much for his entire life. His parents. His grandparents. Hailey. He was not going to be the object of anyone’s pity, ever again.
He probably had some kind of curse on him. The curse of loss.
His resolve to stand on his own, to not ever invite anyone else into his wretched life, firmed. If he truly wanted chicken dinner and muffins, he was quite capable of doing that for himself. He did not need Angie Witherspoon aka Brook Nelson. He did not need anyone. It was safest that way.
He returned to his office, but only to pick up his electronic tablet. He put what he needed into the search engine, and snorted to himself at how ridiculously easy it was to cook a rosemary chicken breast. Buoyed by that success, he also looked up muffins.
It occurred to him that he didn’t know where the mixing bowls were or even if he had any. Wasn’t it high time he found out?
Whistling with grim determination—and not Jingle Bells, either—Jefferson renewed his vow of complete independence. He found the bowls and some rudimentary ingredients. He began to slap things together.
* * *
Angie set down the phone. Jefferson had not answered. She felt the first real fear she had felt since she had returned to snare Winston. She looked at her watch. She could be back at the Stone House in a matter of hours.
But what if he didn’t want to see her? What if it was over between them? What if she could not restore his faith in himself?
This,
